Drinking Up
by Dr Megalomania
Summary: A short story told from a POV, one side of a conversation. Previously posted in the POTC Just Fic mailing list, this is a simple story told by one man. A blacksmith comes to Tortuga as a ship comes into port, Drinks all round for the captain!


Avast Me Hearties, and welcome aboard my lil' world of weirdness!!

I state for the record that this is my first fanfic for Pirates of the Caribbean . . . and that I don't own any of the characters that will grace this story! All hail the Mouse! For once they've churned out something that doesn't make me despair of children's futures! Also hail Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom for being inspirations, both did a fantastic performance but I don't need to tell you that! All you need to know is that I'm usually an anime writer, I'm completely for Yaoi/Slash fiction and that you should know that this has a slash pairing in it. Since it's only my first fic, you can read it without the slash pairing because it's only barely hinted at here! In fact, it's more like strong friendship between darling Will and Savvy Jack. I hope you'll know whose talking by the end!

Archive: here, there, anywhere, just let me know please!!

"Speaking" 

*Stress/emphasis*

~ Drinking Up ~

By Doctor Megalomania

"Hello.

You're new.

Come here often, mate?

No? Oh, well . . . you'll be fine. No one gets turned away, and everyone's welcome. You can be old, you can be young. On the run or on the rum. Lads and lasses gather near, gather near.

Drunk? 

O'course, you've come to the right place, my friend, leave real life out there, out on the waves and find the family you've always wanted right here. Everyone's welcome, gather near, gather near. Here, you look chilled. The rain's harsh this time of year, I know. You just . . . drink deep, rum'll keep you warm and failing that, I know a girl or two willing to warm your bed with you. They don't ask for much, just a kiss and their palms crossed with gold. Silver? No, 'too cheap!' they'll cry. But, if you can close your eyes and have a good imagination I know of a few lads who'd do the same deed for silver. 

There now, we'll sit by the fire, my friend and I'll order the next round. I'm generous, every reason to be. Sit quiet now, drink your rum and listen. Aah, I see . . . no time for ghost stories, eh? Too old now, you say? 

Ah well . . . some ghost stories are meant to be told, no matter what you be saying now. Nobody is too old for a story or two. We'll call it half the price of a drink. I see you are a navy child, you be far too clean for most of the scallywags here, my friend.

Cheat you?

I wouldn't dream of it.

All I'm offering is a story . . . a good couple of rums and a warm fire. You, my friend, all I want from you are some titbits and scraps of information. I've not got much need for it to be new, just that it be true. You being a navy child, I suspect that you wouldn't dream of lying to me . . . but see . . .

Aye, you're *here*, my friend, knocking elbows with pirates, strumpets and drunks. What kind of honest navy child is doing here? What business have you with pirates? Don't you have a lady friend waiting for you at . . . ah, sore subject eh? I won't press. You're a fine looking lad, my friend, she's a foolish lass to let you . . . now, now lad. Don't be drawing that here. 

You've no hope against a pirate. 

Heh . . . I know lad, I know I don't look it at first, but it's been some time since I raided, pillaged, plundered and otherwise pilfered my weaselling black guts out . . . aye, that's it. Sit back; you're not here looking for a fight, lad . . . I can see it in your eyes.

She was a bonny lass, you were fond of her . . . but she was the one that let you go. Remember that lad, before you start a fight to defend her honour. 

. . . hmm?

Nothing, you seem familiar . . . that's all. 

I've a friend. Hmmm, a good friend, always when he saw a familiar face he'd ask, 'have I threatened you before?'. O'course he was drunk most of the time, couldn't remember much else . . . but aye, he was a good man. A good man. A good pirate and a good man.

Why do you look at me so, lad?  

Remind you of someone you once met?

No . . . no, don't be telling me his name, lad . . . 

Why?

Lad, you're a good clean navy child . . . brought up in?

Port Royal, you say . . . they hang a pirate on sight, lad, and not another thought about it. Then string 'em up on the cove with a warning.

That's why I don't want to know, lad.

My friend . . . my good friend, no. . . I couldn't bear to think that he's hanged. I'd rather think of him sailing the waves, standing atop of his mast . . . gazing across the sea like he'd never seen it . . . heh, or he *owned* it.

What information am I looking for? 

All in good time, my friend, all in good time. Let's drink up first, toast the sea, toast the air . . . and toast those long gone.

The story? 

Aye, that can wait too. The blackest tale of treachery and treason you've ever heard, my friend.  

First, tell me a little something about you.

Like what, eh? Tell me about . . . your fine sword. Who made it for you? Why? Because I wish to get one myself, I lost mine . . . down deep at the bottom of the sea and I'm looking to be replacing it. It was a fine sword, never did me any wrong, never let me down. I feel bad for having to let it go, but some circumstances just need you to. 

Now, tell me about yours. It's a fine sword; even by the hilt I can see that. How? Look here at the detail, lad . . . and here, this latticework to protect your hand. It was made to serve the navy, but the maker . . . ah . . . he has pirate blood in him.

How can I tell?

Here now, lend me your sword for a moment and I'll show you. 

Wait, lad, wait . . . do you hear that? Aah, hear how the sword sings as you unleash it? You do, don't you lad? You look pleased. Why's that now? 

This sword? You made it yourself?

A navy child like you? A 'smithy? But the finery you wear, lad . . . that hat, this fine cloak and those boots. No, you must be having me on! Another round of drinks on me if you are! Aye, so show me your hands and I bet they are as soft and gentle as the day you came sucking your silver . . . well, I'll be damned again . . .

Rough hands, lad. O'course you're a 'smithy . . . looking at you now, I see it. The light here is dim, nothing but the fire to show me what you look like but you're right lad. I do see it, you have honest eyes, your hands are rough with hard work and . . . aye, you've got pirate blood in you, or else . . . 

Ha, hah, HAH! Lad, how else do you explain how you drink rum?!

Ah, yes, yes lad. I see . . . good strong muscles in your shoulders, you're a hard worker, a good worker. But . . .

Ah, you've not squared with the piracy yet . . .

It's a hard thing I suppose to square with, but I assure you . . . we aren't a bad lot most of the time. We're looking for a bit of freedom and sometimes . . . sometimes only finding a horizon can do that for you. 

Drink your rum, lad . . . don't let it get warm.

Do I miss it? Being a pirate, do I miss it?

More than you can know . . . but my ship, my crew . . . ah . . . they're gone now, I hope.

Probably sunk, or hanged.

My friend? 

No, forever he'll be free. 

Even if he is dead . . . no, lad, he's a free spirit. None can catch him, he's always right about that, none can catch him. He'll turn and dance and drive you insane, but somehow he'll always walk away from it. Or straight into trouble. 

Has a habit of that, my friend does, he'll walk straight into trouble and always act as if he's walking the streets of this here port. 

And if he's hit, be it strumpet or sailor, he'll always say, 'not sure I deserved that'. Without fail, there's only a few times, my friend, he'll ever admit that he did and even then he'll talk and talk and talk until you can't remember why you hit him and somehow you'll suddenly owe him a drink, a few pieces of gold and a damned good apology. 

Heh, but then he'll wink, and grin, wrap his arm around you and sing. 

It won't matter what he did, you'll always forgive him his sin. 

O'course . . . that's if he be standing atop of his mast, looking for his horizon atop of a sea he's never sailed before and yet he's always owned. 

Aye, he's a good man. A good man.

Just like you lad, I can see it through and through . . . You're a good lad. 

Come now, enough of this old talk and drink your rum, lad a'fore it gets warm and unpalatable to the pallet. Ah, didn't think this old pirate knew such words, did you?

Well, I'll have you know that I'm a most intelligent type of pirate . . . my family have always had links with pirates but somehow always been a good sort. We try lad, don't think that we don't try. Every generation tries to make good on themselves, leave the profession and try to become a member of society but society . . . ah, they won't hear of it.

See this?

Aye, permanent marker on my hide. I can never become a member of society, no matter what I do or say, even if I haven't been a pirate for damn near nine years. Aye, I could be an old man, my teeth all out, my hair as white as snow and yet, I stroll into Port Royal, lad, and an officer catches a glimpse of this mark on my arm and that's it for me.

So, that is me for the rest of my life . . . a pirate I'm marked, a pirate I'll be.

But then with my family, we've always been pirates; it's in our blood. We're natural sort of pirates, some men just are . . . my family, once we have our taste of the sea, land feels like prison. 

No, no freedom on land for my family.

Only way to avoid becoming a pirate for my family is to never set foot on a boat. But once you have, ah . . . have you sailed, mate? Have you felt the winds gusting away at you as you work on the sea?

I see by the look in your eye that you have. 

Aye, pirate's blood in your veins lad, whether you squared with it or not, it's what is making you get that soft look in your eye. 

So, what does bring you here, lad?

The young lady, aye, she is a part of this. Drink your rum lad, drown your sorrows and lift your spirits. Don't be rousing no devils at this time of night. That sword's too much of a beauty to lose a master. I need a new sword, but that's one I couldn't bear to part you with.

Three hours a day of practice?

That's a good ethic; a man who makes swords and doesn't know how to wield one is not a good sword maker. But you're wrong on the second part; a sword maker who can wield one is not only a good sword maker, but he has pirate's blood. 

Why?

What would a sword maker need to do with a sword, lad?

Why would he fight? He'd never meet with any action; he's the sword maker. The navy keep their engineers from the battle for a good reason, lad. Without the engineers and the smithies, who'd be making their ships and their swords?

A sword maker, who makes his swords and learns to use them, has pirate's blood because he knows deep down he will use these swords. That's why yours are so well made. You make them not to look pretty on the belt of some lazy captain, who does little more than belch and order more wine, or for the every day regimental march of a petty sailor. 

No, lad . . .

Give your sword here, and let me show you . . .

See here? These marks you make, these designs? These are the swords of a pirate. You'd never make a sword exactly like this, would you? You wouldn't dream of it, each sword has his master, every master has his sword! You make them so strong, sharp and balanced to be used every day with the proper care, they'll never be thrown away, stuck into a pirate and the body ditched over board. Nor will this sword sit idle in its sheaf, growing dull with every important dinner. This sword is recognisable, word of it will spread as you use it and soon you'd be recognised merely by a glimpse of your sword.

I see you like the idea of that.

Aye. 

A pirate you be. Every pirate loves to be heard of. Be you the worst pirate ever heard of, at least you've been heard of!

Ha, hah, hah! Drink your rum lad, and stow your gear. 

. . . hmm?

I'm staring again, I'm sorry . . . my humblest apologies. Aye, it's been nine years and you lad, you stir talk in me. I look at you and I see myself, I can almost pretend my son knew his old father's face.

Ah, surprised you again, eh?

The pirate has family.

Aye, I have a son. Sweet lad, I hear. O'course I was always away, but I sent him things. Trinkets mostly, from the booty. Ha, I must have been the only pirate who ever sail the Caribbean who plundered children's toys as well as gold!

Ah, they were some good days, good days . . .

So, lad . . . off I've rambled and yet I still don't know why such a clean looking, hard working, honest lad like you is doing in the middle of this here port . . . 

The lass, yes, lad she gave you the push but . . . no, lad, you don't come to Tortuga because you've gotten the hump with your lass. You come to Tortuga because you going to anyway at some point, whether you knew it or not and were just looking for that gust of wind to catch your sails. Course was plotted, you were just becalmed, lad, just bobbing up and down motionlessly waiting for anything to push you.

Aye lad, life with the navy has done that to you. Your face is open, and honest . . . a few years as a pirate—

Not going to be one, eh?

Aye, and how are you going to do that?

You don't think setting up shop in Tortuga, a smith's shop in Tortuga, is a bad idea? Look around lad; people don't come here to get things made. They come here for information, to fence off booty, to get drunk and lie down with a strumpet or two until roll call the next morning. 

No, lad . . . stop lying to me, it's a good effort but I can see it . . . you're waiting for something, a ship . . .

Aye, there's one ship you're waiting for with your amicable ideas of setting up shop here. You're waiting for her, just as I'm waiting for mine. Though I choose to grow drunk and old by this fire, while you plan to pretend to work. Pretend to be hammering away while you watch out the window across the cove for her standard, for her sails, for her figurehead.

She's bewitched you, and you can hear her calling you, can't you?

Aye, my ship's bad. She sings and sings and sings, just like her captain. My friend, my good friend. Always calling out, walking into trouble, he's looking for me as I'm looking for him. 

But see . . . aye, lad . . . you've not squared with your piracy yet . . . you can drink your rum, but you can't hold it. Come now, we'll go to my room and lie you down. It's all right William, I've got you. Hold tight to me and I'll take you to my room.

Your name?

Lad, speak slowly . . . you're too drunk for me to understand your jabberwocky talk. William? Aye . . . that slipped out, but you'll forget by morning . . . how do I know that? Because you're just like me when I was your age . . . 

There now, up the stairs a step at a time. Aye, don't worry, I won't let you fall. I've the safest hands, I've been told, never once did I drop my sword or my pistol. Come now, lean against the wall while I open the door. Don't you go sliding down the wall though, I wouldn't do it. Not in such a fine cloak, and with walls as grimy as these. Many a strumpet has been pushed against the walls, and you're not one of them. Come now . . .

Aye, I know . . . I've got beads in my hair, just like he does. 

How do I know who you are talking about? How can I not know who he is, lad? You're looking for the Black Pearl, and you're waiting for Captain Jack Sparrow. Your name is William Turner, named for your father who was away most of your life.

Aye, and that's the third time I've surprised you. A charm I hear, Lady Luck owes you a drink. 

No, let questions wait until tomorrow, son. 

I hear a ship's come into cove, looking for a blacksmith.

. . . he's sleeping, Jack. I know you're there, Jack, I'd know that walk anywhere and my ears aren't so clogged with water I wouldn't recognise your strumpet's walk anytime. You took care of him, just like you promised, I came back, just like I promised, and Barbossa's dead, just like you said the Pearl promised . . . so we're all men of our word, eh, Jack . . . except for the Pearl who is, in fact, a ship . . .

Aye . . . she's a good ship, a voice of an angel . . .

He's a good lad, Jack . . . and I see you've taken a shine to him.

Ah, Jack dishonest to the bitter end, you could never lie to me right . . . why else would my son suddenly find he couldn't keep the Pearl out of his thoughts and you out of his heart? His lass knew that, she knew she couldn't really have what you had taken, and like a good pirate, you'll never give it back, eh Jack?

No, didn't think you would . . .

Good man you are, Jack, even if you walk like a strumpet. 

Let's go for some rum before you start rolling your eyes at me!

. . . Now then, this lass whom dear William used to love, tell me again . . . she did what to all the rum?"

While his young and only son – drunk beyond standing – started to snore quietly on the soft bed, William 'Bootstrap Bill' Turner chuckled quietly as Captain Jack Sparrow of the infamous, cursed Black Pearl winked and grinned. The captain sighed dramatically as he wrapped an arm around his best friend and began to tell of a dark tale about treachery and treason and the burning of good, sweet, innocent rum . . . 

~ Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho! ~

Doctor Megalomania

 ~~~~

And Now It's Time to LEAVE IT TO DOCTOR MEGALOMANIA!!!

DrM: just a quick note to tell you, reviews are always welcome. That there are two more stories from this series to come, and . . . if you are a part of the just fic Potc slash yahoo group, hi . . . yeah, you probably read this, ah well, this time you can review with one quick easy click of a button!! Thank you!!


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